


Reflection in Beskar

by Smahahah



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Armor, Mandalorians (Star Wars), One Shot, Pre-Canon, Religious Guilt, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Self-Reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:53:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28169562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smahahah/pseuds/Smahahah
Summary: Din Djarin contemplates his armor, his religion, and himself.
Kudos: 14





	Reflection in Beskar

The bounty had been almost insultingly easy. The Devaronian, while a skilled gunfighter, was simply no match for a Mandalorian. Especially not a Mandalorian of Din's caliber. He would make sure to remind Greef Karga not to insult his expertise by sending him on such a simple hunt. 

After transporting the complaining Devaronian across the seemingly endless desert in a borrowed speeder and shoving him into the Razor Crest's Carbonite unit, Din lets out a soft sigh. 

He is two days from Navarro, three if his ship fails again. As it is unfortunately wont to do. Damn Pre-Imperial tech is always giving out on him. 

He climbs up the ladder to the flight deck. 

The ship just needs to get onto the nearest Hyperspace Lane and then he can go to sleep. Easy bounty or not, his body still aches. 

The Razor Crest lifts off the red sands of Ryloth into the dark sky. The Devaronian had chosen to hide in the Nightlands, the side of Ryloth locked in perpetual darkness. An excellent place to hide, if one is not being hunted by a Mandalorian. 

Lucky for Din, Ryloth is located along the Corellian Run, a major Hyperspace route. It only takes half an hour to get to a jumping point. 

Din shifts into Hyperdrive, pushing forward on the controls. As the sky outside begins to coruscate, Din leans back in his chair. The jump into Hyperspace will make even the most experienced pilot a little woozy. 

It takes him a few minutes to realize that he's alone. 

He can take his helmet off. 

He hesitates briefly before lifting the helmet off his head. He blinks as his eyes adjust to the unfiltered light, and his ears take in the unmodulated sounds of the ship creaking around him. He takes a breath, the recycled air of the Razor Crest chilling his lungs. 

He feels vulnerable like this, even alone. 

Din looks at the helmet in his hands. It feels more like him than his own face does. He can see himself reflected in the beskar, his image distorted. 

Hasn't his own image always been distorted? 

It's part of why he loves his helmet so, apart from its connection to his clan. His armor is a part of his body, a part of his very being. It will be with him as he joins the Manda. Removing it is like losing a limb. 

He has heard stories of Mandalorians who had their armor stolen from them before they were slaughtered. 

His grip tightens ever so slightly. 

"Ba'jur bal beskar'gam, ara'nov, aliit, Mando'a bal Mand'alor— An vencuyan mhi," he mutters softly, unwilling to listen to his own un-distorted voice, "Education and armor, self-defense, our tribe, our language and our leader— All help us survive." The Resol'nare, the Six Tenets of Mandalore. 

"This is the way." 

Din puts his helmet back on. 

He rolls his shoulders and leans back in his pilot's chair to get some sleep. He never sleeps better than when he's safely cocooned in his armor.


End file.
